


parallel wires

by pagets



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 03:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7829404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagets/pseuds/pagets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Franky suddenly finds herself addicted to the idea that the world knows she is unavailable, that she's someones. That she doesn't belong to it, she belongs to Bridget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	parallel wires

# parallel wires

She starts doing it after a night out with her work mates. 

She has been working at Legal Relief for a few weeks and it's the thirtieth birthday of one of the office's most beloved paralegals. Certainly cause for celebration and drinking and, to Franky's surprise, rather enthusiastic encouragement to flirt with ever leggy twenty-something that approaches her.

She can't really blame them because they don't know about Gidget. 

Because she hasn't ever mentioned her -- _she can't_. 

But they do know she's gay, that wasn't a secret to anyone, especially not once they realised she was _that_ Franky Doyle. And so women (and some men) approach, one after the other, and Franky rebuffs both their advances and the curious looks and playful jeers from her co-workers. 

The next time she gets invited out she is tying on a leather bracelet to her wrist when her eye catches her bare ring finger. She grabs the first ring she finds on her dresser, there’s nothing romantic or significant about it, it’s just a thick silver one with some black detailing, and she shoves it on. It's just a finger, it doesn't fucking matter what she wears on it and if it makes people think twice before blatantly coming onto her then mission accomplished. 

As it turns out, it works perfectly and her co-workers don't make much of a fuss either. Most of them, she assumes, see it for what it is on the surface; a way to ward off less shameless suitors and the few that do ask about it accept a surprisingly sparse amount of information about her personal life before moving on. 

It's one of those moments that highlights the stark contrast of prison versus the real world for her. One where she remembers that she is entitled to her privacy. That there is no fish bowl anymore. That despite having to be precautions about their relationship for Bridget's sake, Franky is a free woman with complete control over her own life and how much certain people get to know about her. 

Tonight they know, that for whatever reason, Franky Doyle is not available. 

It surprises her just how much she relishes in how that makes her feel.

Franky knows that she’s possessive. Gidget is _her girl_ and whenever they have the luxury of being faceless people in a crowd she eagerly stakes her claim. She let's her naturally larger frame encompass the older woman's petite one, whether it's an arm around her shoulder as they walk down the street or a hand firmly on her thigh when they sit down to eat. She wouldn't do it if it made the blonde uncomfortable and by the psychologist's own admission that is _absolutely not_ the effect it has on her.

The first time Franky had so softly and yes, innocently posed the question to Bridget she’d breathed it out in the dead of night, partially hoping the other woman had already fallen asleep.

_“Gidge… are you my girl?”_

And Bridget had to stop the laughter bubbling at the surface of her throat when she saw the vulnerable look in the brunette’s drooping eyes, “I…” She shook her head slightly, wiping the amused look from her face and shifted her body so she was facing the younger woman. “Sorry baby,” she placed her right hand on the side of Franky’s face, caressing her cheek, “I was just trying to remember the last time someone called me that.” She was met with questioning eyes and placed a soft kiss on the other woman’s furrowed brow. 

“Ask me again,” at first Franky ducked her head and seemed embarrassed but she moved slowly and pressed a kiss to the corner of the blondes mouth and moved her lips to her ear to repeat the question in a drowsy, raspy whisper.

It sent shivers down the older woman’s spine. 

It seemed simultaneously so ridiculously old fashioned and yet somewhat juvenile but Bridget fucking loved the thought of it. Loved the way it rolled off her lovers tongue. _Always,_ she thought as she bit her lip and nodded, mumbling her approval of the status against Franky’s lips.

It works for them because her possessiveness comes from a place of pride, she can’t believe Bridget allows herself to _be_ Franky’s. And she knows now, how much of a rush Bridget gets just by seeing her so outwardly proud to be her partner. 

Bridget's possessiveness comes out just as often but almost exclusively behind closed doors. Franky is _definitely_ into that but suddenly, she finds herself addicted to the idea that the world knows she is unavailable, that she's someone's. That she doesn't belong to it, she belongs to Bridget. 

She wears the ring the next time she goes out for after work drinks. 

And the time after that. 

And then she stops using the potential annoyance of unwanted come ons as an excuse and she slips it on her finger every morning. 

Bridget doesn’t notice it at first. 

Well, she notices it but she doesn’t really think much of it. One of the things she was so surprised to learn about the younger woman when she was released from Wentworth was that she loves jewellery. And she wears a lot of it. Much more than Bridget would ever dare to and she also doesn’t really strike the blonde as someone who would be precious about not wearing rings on particular fingers. 

She notices the pattern. Notices Franky returning home from a night out and slipping it off her finger as she prepares for bed. She doesn’t say anything because she gets it. She knows she has done it countless times single or not, for a night out or a particular patient. It’s totally fucked but she knows from her personal experience and professional knowledge that people, particularly women, get treated differently when there is a ring on their finger. 

Then after a few weeks, every time she see’s the other woman, every night they spend together, she realises Franky's wearing it. Always the same one, on _that_ finger and Bridget starts to think something of it. 

She doesn’t say anything for a few months, at least. At first she wonders if Franky is trying to drop an hint but she doubts it. She tries exceptionally hard to set boundaries between slipping into therapist territory and still using her skills to facilitate the healthiest relationship possible between them and communication is a huge part of that. She knows Franky knows that. And she hopes Franky knows that no matter how much they love each other they are certainly not ready for marriage right now. 

Ultimately curiosity gets the best of her. 

She is holding the unremarkable, thick band in her hand one Saturday morning when Franky walks back into the bedroom. She’s holding the ring but it’s the younger woman that looks like she’s just been caught out. As if Bridget wouldn’t have noticed her wearing it constantly. She simply offers her a small smile and tilts her head to the side, creating a opportunity for the brunette to finally open up about it. 

Franky steps toward her, her large stride bringing her from where she had halted her movement in the doorway to being just slightly out of Bridget’s reach, “Bridget, I can explain—“ 

“Darling, you don’t have to explain anything to me,” she says quickly, “but I can’t say I’m not a little curious.” 

She places the ring back on the dresser and sits on the edge of the bed, “I realised what you were doing at first,” she continues, reaching out to pull Franky down next to her, “getting hit on constantly, what a burden to bear.” 

She leans forward connecting their foreheads momentarily and chuckles, mostly at the wide eyed look and light blush on her lovers face as she realises she hadn’t fooled Bridget for a second. 

“You hit the nail on the fucking head, Gidge," she says teasingly. The days when the blonde's powers of perception alienated her are long gone. They don't make her feel vulnerable and exposed anymore, they make her feel accepted and understood. 

_Loved_.

"The night when I got invited out for Sarah's thirtieth it was fucking ridiculous how many people came and chatted me up and the guys from work didn't know about us, so they just encouraged it. So the next time I got invited out I thought it might help fend off the fucking heard." 

"And it worked I assume," the smaller woman smirks.

"Yeah, for the most part," she offers a slightly dopey smile before continuing, realising that Bridget knows there is more to it then that and she here to listen. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything, Gidge. I wasn't like a jealousy thing or a temptation thing or some shit, I just fucking hated that they assumed I was available or interested when I'm not." 

"Franky..." Her voice is so gentle as she breathes out the other woman's name. Franky meets her eyes and is overwhelmed by the affection she finds there, "so wearing it all the time, I assume it wasn't due to an overwhelming increase in your clients overstepping boundaries?" 

Bridget attempts to lighten the atmosphere, starting to put the pieces together as she watches Franky struggle to find the words to articulate what had motivated her actions. She grasps Franky's right hand with her left, squeezing it tighter where is rests on her knee, trying to encourage and support her girlfriend. 

"No... I don't know, it's kinda stupid." She lefts out a heavy breath, relaxing her shoulders, "I guess... it became less about fending off boozed up idiots and more about how it made me feel ya know?" 

"How's does it make you feel, baby?" 

"Like-" Her voice breaks a little, and it makes Bridget hold her hand even tighter, "like I belonged to someone but not just so they wouldn't try and get in my pants ya know, but even my mates. It feels good knowing that that's something people might think about. That's what I'm projecting into the world or whatever." 

Self image was something they'd started to work on in their session together and Bridget knows that it's something Franky is still working through with her current therapist. She knows how much Franky revels in showing the world that Bridget is _her girl_ and she could kick herself for not fully understanding how much Franky loved the idea of being _hers_ in return. 

"That I'm yours, ya know? That you want me," she confesses, sniffling softly as she wipes the tears that have fallen from her cheek. 

Bridget's heart breaks and bursts at the same time. "I always want you. I love you so much, baby." She takes Franky's face in her hands, wipes a few more stray tears away with her thumbs and consoles the younger women. 

She tells her that it makes perfect sense, considering everything, but that doesn't mean it's just another way she's totally fucked up because of all the shit she's gone through. There's nothing wrong with wanting people to know that you're wanted and loved especially when you are.

So wanted.

And so loved.

So much that sometimes Bridget can't even find the words to tell her how fucking much, doesn’t know how to supply adequate proof of it, and she's never had that problem with anyone else before. 

Usually, Franky always stays the weekend at Bridget’s. The older woman will come home after work, on a dreary Friday afternoon, to find Franky cooking dinner and she won’t let the younger woman leave until as late as possible on Sunday night, despite the fact they both have early mornings.

The weekdays tend to get a bit hectic but the weekends are theirs. 

This particular Sunday, Franky was surprised that Bridget appeared somewhat more willing then usual to part with her. She was disappointed to have to cut their weekend short but couldn’t get out of plans to meet a colleague and go over the technicalities of an important case, plus she had files to brush up on for tomorrow which she really should have started on already. 

Franky knew all to well that Bridget Westfall, especially Bridget Westfall trying to prove a point, was incredibly distracting. And so she left the house after breakfast with lingering kisses and the promise of dinner on Tuesday. Which is why she is so surprised when there is a knock on the door of her apartment. She dreads a random visit from her parole officer, but wonders who else would be outside her door. 

“Franky, it’s me.” _Gidget._ She can’t even begin to control the smile that overtakes her face, stumbling over her ottoman as she moves open the door for the blonde. 

She swings the door open, and smiles wider if that’s even possible. “Gidge, what are ya doing here?” 

“Sorry, baby, I won’t stay long. I just—I saw something today,“ Bridget walks into the small apartment, closes the door behind her and then leans back against it. She bites her lip looking a little unsure of herself, “I got it for you and I couldn’t wait to give it to you. Not after yesterday.” She reaches out to the younger woman, pulling her into her personal space. 

“Come here, baby,” Franky lets herself be drawn into Bridget’s embrace, bending her taller frame to bury her head in the crook of the other woman’s neck for a moment. She’s half embarrassed about yesterday’s confession, half making an attempt to lose herself in the older woman’s warmth. It’s only been a few hours and she can’t believe how much she missed her. When she pulls back to look at the shorter woman, who couldn’t possibly find Franky anymore adorable if she tried, she catches a glimpse of something silver between Bridget’s fingers. 

A ring. 

It’s two pieces of metal looped through each other and knotted together at the top. A true lover’s knot, the blonde would reveal to her later. Right now, Franky feels like her heart is in her throat. She can feel the prickle of tears in her eyes and she meets Bridget’s which are glossy too. 

The older woman clears her throat and lets out a shaky laugh, “Fucking hell, Franky. I am _way_ to old for this…” She lifts the ring closer to their faces, shaking her hand as if to emphasise its importance, before she continues earnestly. “I love you. And I’m sorry that we still have to keep things so under wraps because of me.”

“No, Gidge—“ Bridget shushes her attempt to interrupt. They’ve been together just over a year and it will still be another year before Bridget won’t be in danger of loosing her licence if certain people found out about their relationship. 

She hates herself sometimes because she feels like she’s made Franky, _Franky_ who worked so long and so hard to change and be _good_ , complicit in something nefarious. But Bridget knows she’s the one who’s being selfish. She’s the only one in the wrong. But how can she know that something is logically, technically, _ethically_ , wrong when it doesn’t feel wrong in her heart at all? 

“I wanna marry you,” she says it like is absolves her of her sins.

She wishes it did. 

They’ve talked about marriage, loosely. Simply expressed the desire to be _allowed_ to get married, if the country ever gets its damn act together but this is the first time either of them have so explicitly said the words. Franky feels like the whole world has frozen and it’s just her and Bridget in this tiny, shitty excuse of an apartment. 

“We are not even remotely ready for that,” she gently tells the brunette. This is not a proposal, it’s a promise. She grabs Franky’s hand and removes the old band from its place.

“But,” she slides the newly purchased ring onto the younger woman’s finger, “until then…” Bridget looks up from the ring to Franky’s face, their faces are closer then she expected, their noses brush and she lowers her voice to a teasing whisper. “At least let everyone think that your girl’s got good taste.”

Franky’s mouth gapes open and she shoves the other woman away playfully, “Oi! What was wrong with the other one?” Bridget’s laughter bubbles out of her throat and she pulls Franky’s face down to kiss her over and over. 

“Nothing,” the blonde whispers against her lover’s lips, “but I like this one better.”

“So do I,” Franky lets out before recapturing Bridget’s lips and pushing her firming back up against the door. She grips the backs of the smaller woman’s thighs and lifts her so she’s forced to wrap her legs around the taller woman’s waist. They both gasp as Franky uses the new position to grind harder against the other woman. Bridget sucks the brunette’s lower lip into her mouth, biting down roughly in response and Franky knows any hope she had of being well prepared for her meetings tomorrow is long gone. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this, please leave a kudos if you did! And leave me some feedback on what you liked (or didn't like) if you have the time because I definitely hope to post more stories about these two in the future.


End file.
